


November Mystrade 2018

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, But Greg likes telling him, Cigarettes, Cooking Lessons, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Drunk Greg Lestrade, Drunk Mycroft Holmes, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Fade to Black Ending, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Greg Does, Greg's a Little Careless, Halloween Costumes, Hand Jobs, He's an Adorable Drunk, He's not as strong as he thinks he is, Implied Sexual Content, Implied drinking, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Kissing, Knife Wound (mentioned), Lap Sex, M/M, Male Friendship, Mycroft Doesn't Know What He Wants, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Is A Good Boyfriend, Mycroft Worries, Mycroft doesn't know what to do with them, Nicknames, Past Relationship(s), Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sex, Sleeping Pills, Small Intimacies, Smoking, bridges, compliments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 16,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: Another year, another round of Mystrade shorts. One shots, short multi-chapters, AUs, character studies, fluff, and whatever else may pop into my head.





	1. Slight Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Help me into mine? Gotta keep up my end of the bargain.”

Steam drifted out of the ensuite as Greg opened the door. He padded out into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his bare waist.

“Done with the bathroom. You nearly ready?”

Greg waited a moment, ruffling his wet hair with another smaller towel. At the lack of an answer, he crossed to the door of the walk-in closet.

“Myc?” he called, knocking gently. 

“…Yes. Yes, I’ve finished.”

“Come out then. Let’s give you a look.”

Another stretch of stillness occurred. Greg smiled to himself, resting his hand on the door.

“Want me to come in instead?” he asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

He heard a few more seconds of indecisive silence. Then, something soft, like a release of breath. 

“Alright.”

Greg found Mycroft standing in front of the full-length mirror. He didn’t turn as Greg came up behind him, too busy quietly frowning at the image in the glass.

“Wow,” Greg said approvingly. He slid his fingers over the back of Mycroft’s jacket, admiring how the pinstripes seemed to stand out a bit bolder against black fabric than they did on the charcoal suit. Mycroft had initially hesitated at the idea of a solid black shirt as well, but Greg known it would give the blood red tie all the more presence. 

He caught Mycroft’s uncertain gaze in the reflection and grinned. “You look amazing, Myc. A regular Al Capone.”

Mycroft scoffed, though a little smirk emerged. “A bit of an exaggeration, I’d say.”

“That’s costumes though, innit? Exaggerations from reality.” Greg glanced down at the white and black wingtips on Mycroft’s feet. “How’re the shoes? Be able to get through the evening with them?”

“So long as I do nothing more strenuous than forced conversation,” Mycroft said blandly, in that way that Greg knew was him hiding a case of nerves. 

Greg reached out, gently pulling Mycroft around.

“Hey.” He eased into Mycroft’s space, hands curling over his hips. Once he had Mycroft’s eyes on his again, he tilted his head up. Mycroft made a sort of inquisitive sound as Greg kissed him, but softened into it almost at once.

“You really do look great,” Greg said, his eyes closing. “Thanks for doing this.” 

He felt Mycroft give a quiet huff, a smile curving against Greg’s lips. 

“Happy to oblige.”

“Heh. Speaking of which-“ Greg shifted back, glancing over at the large garment bag hanging on the rack, “help me into mine? Gotta keep up my end of the bargain.”

It was no secret how much Mycroft liked dressing Greg, and that seemed especially true tonight. Greg didn’t need to do much beyond stepping into his trousers and putting his arms through sleeves. Quiet pleasure shined in Mycroft’s eyes as he laced Greg’s shoes, knotted his tie, and adjusted the cuffs over his white gloves.

His hair was the last step; Greg sitting in a chair as Mycroft worked pomade through the strands.

“Finished,” Mycroft finally said, setting down the comb. He took hold of Greg’s hand, pulled him up, and faced him toward the mirror. “Have a look.”

As Greg’s eyes reached the mirror, his mouth dropped open. 

“Holy shit…” 

It was a hell of a difference. Greg had never imagined he could look that refined, that sleek. Mycroft’s arms appeared around his waist, hands clasping in front of his stomach. Mycroft pressed up against his back and gazed at their shared reflection with unmasked satisfaction.

“You look exquisite.” 

Greg grinned, not quite able to stop staring. “Yeah? Good enough to serve high-tea to the Queen?”

“Well, I think your attire may be a touch more fanciful than the valets in her employ.” 

“Hm, shame.” He placed a hand over Mycroft’s arm, leaning back against him. “What of you then, sir?” he said, pulling for his best approximation of the RP accent. The little shiver that ran through Mycroft told Greg he’d gotten it about right. “Is there any way I might be of service?”

“Much as I wish to take you up on that, we do have a party to attend.” Mycroft turned his head, pressing his lips to the smooth skin just next to Greg’s ear. 

“But I’ll be sure to find a use for you later, Lestrade,” he drawled, a little extra growl in his voice. Before Greg could even exhale a shaky breath, Mycroft suddenly released him. 

“Now, we ought to be going, don’t you think?” 

Greg laughed, breathless as he turned to Mycroft. “Think we’d better. There’s just one more thing.” He moved over to the dresser, opening one of the side drawers. As he brought out the white trilby, he grinned at Mycroft’s raised eyebrow. “Gotta complete the look,” Greg said, holding it out to him.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but stepped forward, his smile bright. He settled the hat on his head, and with a little flourish of his fingers along the brim, looked to Greg expectantly. 

“Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm part time now, so lots more time for writing. We'll see how this month works for me. :)))
> 
> Note: Greg's dressed as a butler/valet, btw. And Mycroft's a 1920's style American mobster. Hopefully that got through. XD


	2. In Your Favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t mind being your dirty little secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself a bit sad with this one, and I hadn't meant to for that to happen. Plus the story's shorter than I'd like, but it feels odd trying to force anything else on it at the moment.

Mycroft jerked as teeth grazed over his neck.

“Don’t be so rough. There can’t be any marks.”

“Sorry,” Greg husked. He switched to his tongue, laving over the little dip above Mycroft’s collarbone. Mycroft let out a quavering breath, head tipping back to fully expose the pale column of his throat.

“B-better…”

The tiny stumble on the word made Greg smile. He mouthed gently under Mycroft’s chin, tasting traces of sweat and salt. Mycroft squirmed from it. His hands traveled over Greg’s back, never settling in one place.

Greg loved the effect this had. Shivers, little bitten-down moans, gasps. He hadn’t even gotten Mycroft out of his clothes yet and the man was already halfway to incoherent.

Someday, he wanted to see if he could make Mycroft come just from this.

Mycroft made a questioning noise as his wrists were captured. Then, a startled yelp as they were pinned down on either side of his head.

“Greg-“

“Think I could give you a little one? Right here?” Greg nosed along the seam between Mycroft’s collar and his throat. “Let it peek out a bit so people have to look twice to be sure.”

Mycroft shuddered under Greg’s weight. “Greg – I can’t risk -“

“Yeah? Shame. S’fine, though.” Greg traced the same path again with his tongue. “Don’t mind being your dirty little secret.”

Mycroft’s breathing stilled. He swallowed.

“That’s not what you are.”

Greg stopped. Raised his head to look Mycroft.

“I know. Just a joke.”

Mycroft’s eyes held his, like he wasn’t sure if Greg did know. Like he needed to say it too, but he didn’t have the words that Greg did.

With a sigh, Greg loosened his grip, shifting up to interlace their figures together. He smiled at the way Mycroft’s brow furrowed a little.

“You keep asking me,” Greg said, gently. “You keep ringing me, sending those posh cars for me. All that `risk`, and you keep doing it.” He searched Mycroft’s face, wondering what would be worth it for Mycroft to take a chance with him. For Mycroft to-

Greg pushed it away, smiling again. “What’s that say about you?”

Mycroft stared up at him. Swallowed.

“The same thing it says about you.”

“Really? Except I know why I keep coming back.”

Mycroft’s lips tightened, eyes wide with quiet distress. He’d never looked so conflicted.

“Hey, hey.” Greg leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “It is what it is, alright? And it really is fine. I like this. Like doing this with you. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Greg-”

Greg kissed him, softly. Kissed him until he felt the unspoken words fade away, until he was sure Mycroft’s focus was back where he wanted it.

“You ever change your mind,” he murmured, sliding his hand down to a place that made Mycroft arch up against him, “let me know, kay?”

_S’enough. However you want me. So long as you do._

_It’s enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from a tumblr prompt I lost track of with the line “Don’t be so rough. There can’t be any marks.” I fell off finishing this one, but finally came back to it.


	3. Becoming the Norm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Perhaps a touch less caution to the wind next time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the little ditties in my drafts folder I've been meaning to finish up.

Sergeant Donovan came out of DI Lestrade’s office and motioned to Mycroft, who stood waiting off a few feet away.

“He can see you now, but mentions he’s not exactly dressed for the occasion.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “I assume he’s not prancing around naked?”

“He’s still getting cleaned up. But if you don’t mind that, he says you can go ahead in. Your brother and Dr. Watson already went back to the scene.” The slight edge in her tone wasn’t lost on Mycroft.

“My apologies, though I imagine I’m merely treading familiar ground at this point.”

“Well, he did bother to fish Greg out of the lake. Beat you to the apology too.” Donovan smirked at Mycroft’s look of surprise and gestured to the door. “Go on with you, he’s waiting.”

Greg turned when Mycroft entered, in the middle of rubbing his hair with a towel. His normal clothes were draped over the small couch in the corner, while he wore just an undershirt and sweatpants. He smiled, a flash of teeth showing. “Mr. Holmes.”

_Obvious wet spots on the floor, clothes appear to be laid out to dry. An incident in water, then. Hair is still wet but washed; must have used the facilities in the building-_

“Foot chase through Regent’s Park,” Greg said, knowingly interrupting Mycroft’s train of logic. “Caught the guy, but took a tumble into the boating lake when I was securing him.”

The micro-hint of a frown tugged on Mycroft’s mouth. “You’re in better spirits than I would have predicted, given the circumstances.”

“Made the arrest, didn’t we? Can’t say I’m happy with Sherlock and John for taking off without waiting for my officers. Nearly hacked a lung following them.”

“You didn’t wait either.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to have those gits’ backs.”

“Who's the more foolish,” Mycroft remarked idly, leaning on his umbrella, “the fool or the fool who follows him?”

Greg glanced up from under the fringe of his towel, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Did you just quote Star Wars at me?”

Mycroft flicked a dry smile in Greg’s direction. “I’m not completely oblivious to pop culture, Gregory. And Alec Guinness was phenomenal in that role.”

Greg grinned at that. “Turns out the perp had a friend waiting a few blocks away with a car. If Sherlock hadn’t jumped the gun, we might have missed our chance completely. Now, we have both him and the accomplice in custody. So yeah, not a bad day over all.”

With a sigh, Mycroft hooked his umbrella over the doorknob. “Sit, please.”

Greg paused, quirking a brow. Mycroft looked back at him, waiting, until Greg finally shrugged and sat in his desk chair. He watched with interest as Mycroft approached.

“Something on your mind, Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Not what you’re assuming, Lestrade,” he said, stepping behind Greg.

“Too bad.” He sat back, closing his eyes as Mycroft took up drying off his hair. “Sorry, mucked up our lunch date.”

“You are aware the point is less about eating and more about spending time together?”

“Look at you, getting all sweet on me.”

Mycroft momentarily ruffled the towel against Greg’s hair a bit rougher, raising an indignant squawk. “A bit put out at the moment, actually.”

“Right, noted,” Greg said, wincing.

Mycroft’s hands gentled again, raising a soft hum in Greg’s throat.

“Positive as the conclusion of your case may be, perhaps a touch less caution to the wind next time?” Mycroft slowed his movements as Greg leaned his head back, smiling softly up at him.

“Not making a habit out of this. Promise.”

Mycroft felt the pull in his chest, that little flip of gravity. It had become a familiar sensation in the past three months, and only seemed to deepen and grow with each day.

Bending down, Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg’s forehead, fingers caressing through the still damp strands of hair.

“Much appreciated, Gregory.”

Greg huffed in amusement, eyes shining.

“Make lunch up to you? Can cook you dinner if you come over tonight.”

“Hm, I might have an opening in my schedule.”

“How about wine and a movie too?”

Mycroft smiled, ease settling warm around his heart.

“I’ll be there at seven.”


	4. A Bit Too Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sh’d’ve come wif me. Wanted you there…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is crack. Fluffy, wuffy, silly. AND I HAVE NO REGRETS.

“Alright, in we go.”

Mycroft had to shuffle the load he was supporting inside his flat, but with neither of his hands free, he pushed the door closed with his foot.

A croaky grumble rose up.

“S’not my flat.”

“That’s because we’re at mine.”

“Oh… when’d thad happen?”

“Two minutes ago, give or take.” Mycroft readjusted his grip and shifted towards the right hallway. “Come on. You’re to go straight to bed.”

The sagging form in his arms giggled, his head drooping.

“Gregory, you are not sleeping in the foyer.”

“Mrrrwhy?”

Mycroft had to think for a moment, remembering he was dealing with drunk Greg logic. “Because there is no bed here.”

“Ah, s’right.” Greg grinned blearily at Mycroft, then threw out his arm in the opposite direction of where they were going. “To zu bed!”

Two or three stumbles on the way, but Mycroft managed to get Greg to the bedroom. There, Mycroft sat him at the edge of the mattress.

“Let’s get you out of that suit – oof!”

Arms snaked around his waist, tugging him down onto Greg’s lap. Mycroft had to brace his palms on Greg’s chest to keep their heads from knocking together.

“Gregory, careful!”

“In a minute.” Greg’s fingers slipped into his hair, pulling Mycroft into a greedy kiss. “H’ven’t seen you all day.”

Mycroft sighed, though he could be trying a little harder to push Greg away. Even uncoordinated, the sourness of alcohol on his breath, Greg could somehow find a way under Mycroft’s skin. “You saw me this morning.”

“That’d was hours ago,” Greg said, muffled against Mycroft’s throat. Mycroft could hear the frown in his voice.

Wait. No. Oh damn it all, that was a pout wasn’t it? Bollocks. He really needed to keep ahead of Greg’s mood swings…

“Sh’d’ve come wif me,” Greg said. He’d quieted, just holding onto Mycroft. “Wanted you there…”

“Gregory, we’d discussed this. I would have been – out of place.”

Greg shook his head, like a large cat nuzzling at him. “Would’ve made it fun for you. Wasn’t fun.”

“As I understand it, you helped John and Sherlock thwart an attempted murder. Surely that livened up the event.”

Greg huffed, mumbling something unintelligible.

“Sorry?”

“Was lonely. Weddings’ always like that. Jus me, watching everyone else be t’gether. Mine wasn’t even thad good…”

“Gregory-”

“Wuz it me?” Mycroft’s heart squeezed in on itself. “D’you not wan’ be there cuz it’d been wiv me?”

“No, _no_ , that’s not - Oh, come here, Gregory.“

Greg resisted the first attempts, but he finally allowed Mycroft to pry himself loose. He sat, shoulders slumped, watching with a sad, hound-dog expression as Mycroft’s hands framed his face.

“Goodness sake,” Mycroft said, kindly. “I promise you it’s not that. It’s just - people, you know? I barely tolerate them in the best of circumstances.”

“But-“ Greg’s lip quivered, his brown eyes suddenly widening with distress. “But I’m _people_.”

Mycroft blinked, then huffed a laugh despite himself. He quickly kissed Greg, soft and reassuring.

“No, you are a person. There is a difference.”

“Oh.” The realisation seemed to take a few moments to register. Slowly, a smile traveled over Greg’s face. “Thas good, then.”

Mycroft was able to coax Greg to the bathroom after that. A shower was out of the question tonight, but Greg managed to wash his face and do his teeth. Mycroft undressed him with care, letting Greg sit on the toilet lid when his swaying became more pronounced. Greg stole little touches as Mycroft worked; a caress over his cheek, a hand on his shoulder. Mycroft paused undoing Greg’s shoes when Greg bent down and pushed their foreheads together. They stayed for a long moment, breathing together, until Mycroft gave his knee a gentle pat and shifted away, continuing with the laces.

“Just let me get ready for bed,” Mycroft said later, settling Greg under the covers. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Greg muttered something that wasn’t quite words and rolled over, pulling the sheets in with him.

Mycroft got through getting his nightclothes on and hanging up his suit. He was in the middle of brushing his own teeth when he heard a loud thud.

“Gregory?” Mycroft stepped back out, startled by the sight of the bed empty of both Greg and the sheets.

“Myccccccc…”

Around the other side of the bed he found Greg, on the floor, bed sheets wrapped around his body as though he’d somehow managed to swaddle himself. He looked up at Mycroft, quietly dejected.

“I fell of’ the bed.”

Mycroft burst out laughing. He subdued it as best he could, kneeling down beside Greg.

“Yes, I see that. But how-?”

“Was cold. Jus wanted the covers aroun’ me.” Greg dropped his head, even sadder if that was possible. “Now Imma burrito…”

Another snort of laughter escaped. Mycroft quickly cleared his throat, trying to be serious and failing utterly. “Gregory, you’re not a burrito-“

“Imma burrito….”

Mycroft gave up trying to hide his amusement; he’d lost that war. “Really, now,” he chuckled, unwrapping Greg sheet by sheet, “you’re just a bit tangled up is all. And if anything, you invoke the image of a caterpillar rather than a burrito.”

“Cat’erpillar?”

“Yes, one of the fuzzy varieties.”

“…An’ thas good?”

Mycroft bit down on his smile, tugging away the last sheet. “Of course. Butterflies, after all.”

Greg sat up, still a little downcast. “I’m pr’bly end up jus bein’ a moth…”

“Even better, then.”

Greg glanced at him, uncertain. “Is?”

“Very much so.” Mycroft reach for Greg’s hands and helped him to his feet. “Respectable, clever, and far less uppity than those silly butterflies.”

Greg finally laughed, his eyes brightening. He curled into Mycroft’s arms and took a deep inhale. “Yur moth.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft kissed the top of his head, playing with the short strands at the base of his hairline. “My dependable, steady moth.”

Greg snuggled closer, sighing. “Sleep now?”

“Yes.”

“Hold me?”

“Naturally. We’ll keep you on the bed this time.”

“Thanks… Luv you.”

Mycroft smiled.

“And I you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may get it's own posting down the line. Some of the most fun I'd had writing.


	5. Lift the Veil: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft hadn’t quite known what to make of it. But he couldn’t deny he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short today, apologies. But another one I've had on deck for a bit that I'd like to finish.

There was no telling what the exact trigger had been that night. Too many factors came into play where Greg Lestrade was concerned. If it had been sudden—some clichéd lightning strike of desire blotting out his reason or a nonsensical weakening of his knees—then Mycroft might have understood it better.

Mycroft rarely gave people unrelated to his work a second thought or glance. But as was generally the case, Sherlock threw his established habits into disarray when he began working alongside DI Lestrade, prompting Mycroft’s closer attention.

Mycroft had been slow to accept Greg, and Greg hadn’t hesitated in telling Mycroft exactly where he could shove his `higher than thou` attitude.

But they’d thawed, eventually. A subtle, gradual progression of distrust to indifference to genuine respect.

And further into fondness, when Mycroft finally admitted to himself.

Greg was so unlike him. Good, decent, honorable; the kind of common decency sorely lacking in the ranks of humanity, and which only served to make Greg all the more singular. Prone to sparks of temper and stubbornness, but possessing a streak of patience and an easy attitude that endeared him to most.

Mycroft was no exception.

He’d noticed the effects, of course. How he smiled more readily in Greg’s presence, made the kind of small talk he normally despised, and laughed out loud as opposed to his tight, disdainful chuckles.

Mycroft hadn’t quite known what to make of it. But he couldn’t deny he liked it. He liked the way Greg’s eyes caught his own, the way he seemed to smile with the whole of his face - nothing held back.

By the time he’d realised he’d fallen for Greg Lestrade, it was far past the point he could have prevented it.

Even worse, now certain… thoughts had begun occupying the forefront of his thoughts. Not that it was any surprise. Greg was unfairly attractive, with features refined by age, and he was somehow completely unaware of it. Fortunately, Mycroft was good at locking his less than appropriate desires deep in a secure corner of his mind.

Except in those private, indulgent moments when Mycroft allowed his thoughts and hands to wander.

Still, he'd tried to pull back. He left off texting as much as they had been, and on more than one occasion, outright lied when asked if he had time to meet and talk. He drastically cut down on the number of times they met in person, didn’t let their conversations wander as before. Simple. Proper.

If Greg noticed the change in their dynamic, he didn’t question it. He worked with Sherlock as he always had, and the few times he and Mycroft did speak, he was just as congenial as ever.

It was a relief, in some ways.

Disheartening in many others.

 _Better for us both_ , he thought.

_He’d most likely thank me, if he knew._

If nothing else, Mycroft held onto that belief.


	6. Lift the Veil: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The illusion of control shivered, and then fragmented in dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being a bit late with this. Pleased with the overall feel!

Limiting their contact proved effective. For a two-month stretch, there was barely any contact between them except one or two phone calls. Greg still clung to his thoughts, but over time, Mycroft found it easier and easier to think of him without too many complicated emotions rising to the surface.

It seemed to prove further to Mycroft that his choice had been the right one. There was no reason to burden Lestrade with his foolish and most likely unwanted advances. It’d only serve to embarrass them both. And pining like some tragic figure was hardly an effective use of his time.

He’d done well to bring things back to a professional basis.

_Cordial. Normal. Just as it should be._

So when paperwork involving a previous collaboration between his department and Lestrade’s needed signatures, he saw no issue in phoning Greg to ask if he wouldn’t mind dropping by to sign them later that evening.

Eight fifteen, the knocks came. Mycroft called for Greg to enter, still searching for one last form. As the door reclosed, Mycroft looked up to greet Greg.

_Oh._

Greg’s eyes brightened as they met Mycroft’s. He gave a nod as he said hello.

_Oh no._

He smiled.

The illusion of control shivered, and then fragmented in dust. Cotton seemed to accumulate in Mycroft's mouth. Static, warm and fizzy, welled up under his rib cage.

Mycroft shook Greg’s hand, inquired calmly how work was going, all while his senses rioted inside him. He couldn’t stop cataloguing; those well-known features of Greg’s person somehow even more unique and devastating than remembered. The shadow of stubble peppered across his jawline after the long day, the laughter in his eyes somehow darker and more intimate.

Not to mention that voice; distracting enough with its natural grit and textured warmth. But in the quiet of the office, as Greg spoke softly and a delicious, gruff purr soaked into every syllable… Well. Mycroft could scarcely categorize the effect of it on his composure.

Still, Mycroft managed an impressive show of propriety. He spread the forms out on his desk and gave a brief summary of what they entailed, all the while extremely grateful his hands didn’t visibly shake. With Greg bent over signing mere inches away, even more distracting details leapt to Mycroft’s attention, like the understated elegance of Greg's eyelashes, or the hint of those white teeth when Greg asked for clarification on one or two points. Mycroft provided the appropriate comment and nod as needed, covertly digging his fingernails into his thigh to keep himself grounded.

Greg finished with his last signature, and Mycroft mentally sighed in relief that their business was almost concluded. After gathering the documents in their proper order, he walked Greg to the door, thanking him for meeting on such short notice. Greg glanced sidelong at him, flashing that sharp little grin that triggered a weightless sensation deep inside.

Then, something in his expression flickered as he turned to leave, something that caused Mycroft’s center of gravity to abruptly reinstate and jump towards his heart.

His hand flew to Greg’s forearm, latching on. Greg glanced back at him in surprise. For a terrifying few moments, Mycroft was frozen; no plan, adequate way to explain away his actions. But he had to check, he had to make sure that what he’d seen was-

He started as Greg said his name. He suddenly realised he was staring straight into Greg’s eyes, fingers still clutching at his sleeve. Panic washed over Mycroft like cold water. He tried to retreat, forcing his arm down as he stammered out an apology.

A gentle hand to his shoulder stopped him. His breath tightened as he met Greg’s eyes. Greg was looking at him so closely, and Mycroft couldn’t get control of his expression, of how nakedly obvious his emotions must be. It was maddening.

_He’s realising. Any moment, he’ll have it and that will be the end of all this. He’ll know, and he’ll leave-_

Then, Greg kissed him.

And everything went still.

It was careful, gentle, yet the sensation slammed through Mycroft with such force as to leave him reeling. His sight and hearing seemed off, muted one second and hyper focused the next. He stood for some time, unmoving, his arms limp at his side.

It felt like an eternity before he shifted, hesitant. He lifted his hand, chanced resting his palm on Greg’s waist.

Greg sighed, as though in relief.

Time restarted.

Nothing Mycroft had envisioned could ever come close to this reality. He’d never imagined how Greg would gasp as Mycroft tugged him closer, how it would feel to finally push his fingers through that silver hair.

As they broke off for breath, Mycroft was dimly aware he was trembling.

No, wait. That wasn’t right.

He wasn’t trembling.

Greg was.

“-gotten sick of me.”

_What?_

Mycroft blinked. Greg’s cheek was against his own, warm breath at his ear.

He didn’t know when Greg had started talking.

“Thought I’d been too obvious. I wanted to ask but thought you’d shut me out completely if I pushed it. Didn’t want to make things worse.”

Greg pulled back, something desperate in how he held Mycroft’s gaze.

“Please, tell me if I’ve got this right. Bloody hate myself if I ruined everything again. I don’t-“

Mycroft cut Greg off, pulling him into another kiss. Greg shuddered, hard, making a little sound down in his throat that was soft and needy. Mycroft’s heart quietly imploded.

Dear God, he was never going to recover from this.

A lone thought surfaced in response.

_Good._


	7. How Does It Go?: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s not as strong as he thinks he is._
> 
>  
> 
> “Christ…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been wanting to do an Eurus aftermath story. Seems like a good time to get it out!

Greg shut the car door after him and sat, leaning his head against the steering wheel. He listened as the helicopter bound back to Sherriford droned off into the darkness. He honestly couldn’t say if he preferred not having been directly involved in all this chaos. The stubborn part of him insisted he could have been of use, could have done something. The realist knew better. The body count, the destruction of Baker Street, the boggling psychological long game that had been played. At best, he would have been useless to help.

At worst, he’d have been another for the list of casualties.

He didn’t even know where to begin feeling about all this. When had this become his new normal? Was it just par for the course to deal with mad bastards who strapped bombs to innocent people, philanthropists who offed patients in his own hospital just for the fun of it, sociopathic media moguls who moonlighted as blackmailers?

And now he could add a psychotic, mind reprogramming third Holmes sibling to the mix.

Securing Eurus had been a nerve-wracking but straightforward process. John and Sherlock were being seen to, shell-shocked but thankfully no worse for wear. Anthea was hard at work overseeing Sherriford in both cleanup and the removal of compromised staff. His team would need to finish documenting the scene at Musgrave, but they hardly needed him for that.

Which only left Mycroft.

_He’s not as strong as he thinks he is._

“Christ…” Greg muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. He'd learned a staggering amount about the Holmes family in the last forty-eight hours. He was angry. Disappointed. Confused.

And he had a feeling things weren’t going to get easier before the night was done.

He finally sat up, starting the car. Best get moving, he thought wearily. He had a bit of a drive ahead of him, and a lot of thinking to do on the way.

 

* * *

 

 

Anthea had texted him no less than three security codes for Mycroft’s home. One for the entrance gate, one for the front door, and one for the alarm system. She’d also already cleared him with Mycroft’s security detail before he’d arrived, so he was able to drive straight up to the house unimpeded.

The gravel driveway was large, leading up the building and wrapping around a circular hedge by the front door. Greg parked his car out of the way on the right, though he wasn’t that concerned about blocking any traffic. He couldn’t see any lights on in the windows as he looked up at the place. Mycroft hadn’t answered any of the texts he’d sent on the way there either. Not really worrisome on its own, but…

Greg got inside with no issues, bolting the door after himself. He quickly stepped over to the keypad on the wall and punched in a series of numbers, relaxing a little at soft confirmation beep. Being behind a state of the art security system went a long way in easing his nerves.

Alright then.

Greg first made a quick sweep of the downstairs rooms, more for his own peace of mind than anything. He turned lights on and off as he passed through. Not much seemed to have changed, though Mycroft had put in a new range in the kitchen.

He remembered those few mornings here. The smell of fresh coffee and eggs, the slide of arms wrapping around his middle as he fussed over the stove.

Greg sighed, tucking the memory away as he headed for the stairs.

It never felt as warm as it used to.

The partially closed bedroom door tipped Greg off. Mycroft preferred doors shut, not hanging open. Disorderly, he’d called it. Greg slowed his steps as he approached, listening a moment for – he wasn’t really sure to be honest. He had no clue as to what Mycroft’s state of mind might be. Greg had seen him under reasonable pressure, but this?

There was nothing reasonable about what the man had just been through.

Greg took a breath, pushed the door further open, and slipped inside the room.


	8. How Does It Go?: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Find it, please find it – swear to bloody Christ, if you think I’m letting you do this-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little short again sorry. This is turning into something longer than expected!

He was on the bed, lying on his side, his back to the door. The moon sneaking through the curtains provided a decent amount of light, enough to see that he was still in a full suit. Probably the same one he’d worn at Sherriford. He’d not even taken his shoes off.

Greg stood for a moment, waiting to see if Mycroft would acknowledge his presence in some way. When the silence stretched out long enough, Greg quietly spoke.

“Mycroft?”

Nothing.

Greg frowned.

Asleep then?

Slowly, he crossed over to the bed, steps muted against the carpet. He glanced at the nightstand as he got closer, considering turning the lamp on.

His eyes fell on the half-full glass. The torn open pill container. The nearby silver blister pack.

Greg’s heart lurched.

_Oh fuck._

He lunged forward, panic seeming to tangle his feet. He grabbed Mycroft’s shoulder and pulled, unable to breath as Mycroft slumped onto his back, eyes closed and head lolling to one side.

“No, no, no-“ Greg scrabbled onto the bed, wrenching Mycroft’s tie away, tearing open his collar. His hands shook as he fumbled at Mycroft’s neck.

“Find it, please find it – swear to bloody Christ, if you think I’m letting you do this-“

Greg felt the sudden grip on his arm the same time he felt thrumming pulse under his fingertips.

Mycroft’s eyes were open, locked onto Greg. His hand had latched around Greg’s forearm, though without much strength behind it. His lips parted, but no sound emerged.

“Fuck, there you are,” Greg breathed, his heart rioting in his chest. “How many did you take?”

Mycroft stared up at him, confusion at odds with something else in his expression. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. “What?”

“The pills, Mycroft. How many did you take?”

“Pills? I – I don’t-“

_“How many?”_

Mycroft swallowed, a tremor running through him. He seemed to struggle getting his voice to work. “Two.”

It took Greg a moment. Then-

“What?”

“I took two. You’re - not supposed to take more than that.”

“Wait, you-“ Greg turned, snatching up the blister pack. As he looked it over, he saw that except for two empty cavities, all the other pills were still sealed away. A quick check of the liquid in the glass showed it to be just normal water.

“Oh.” Greg sagged, the adrenaline suddenly collapsing in on itself. He sat back clumsily on the mattress as his balance wavered. “Jesus,” he said, letting out a wheeze of laughter, “really thought –“ He passed a hand over his face, shuddering. “Thank God.”

“Are you-?“

Greg looked up again. Mycroft had sat up, shifting his body farther away to the middle of the bed.

“What?”

Mycroft watched him, anxious, eyes wide and dark in the dimness. His voice came out small.

“Are you here to kill me?”


	9. How Does It Go?: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take your time. Might need a sec to adjust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter, yayyyyy!

For a few long seconds, Greg was too taken aback to react. He had to actively force his mouth to form words.

“Wha - Why would you think-?” He moved, turning to face Mycroft better.

Mycroft flinched.

Greg stopped where he was. His chest tightened as he noticed the tension of Mycroft’s shoulders, how his hands were clenched into the sheets.

“No one’s here to kill you, mate. S’all safe.”

“But, you were-“ Mycroft’s lips twitched, pressing together anxiously. “Why are you here? Who are you?”

“What? Who-?”

Suddenly, it dawned on Greg.

Barely any light, the sleeping pills still in Mycroft’s system.

His hands at Mycroft’s throat.

_Oh, bloody hell. Of course._

“Greg.” Greg inhaled, reaching for the calm, even tone he usually saved for distressed witnesses. “It’s Greg Lestrade, Mycroft.”

“…Greg?”

“Yeah,” Greg said. He glanced at the nightstand. “Gonna turn on the lamp, okay? So you can see me better.” He went slow, Mycroft’s eyes glued to him the entire time. They both had to squint as the light flared to life. Greg quickly fiddled with the switch, dimming down the brightness.

“Take your time,” Greg said, sitting still as Mycroft winced in discomfort. “Might need a sec to adjust.”

Mycroft covered his face, squeezing his eyes shut. Greg now saw the scuffs and blemishes on his clothes. His hair was uncharacteristically disheveled and wavy. When he finally lowered his arm, blinking hard, the shadows under his eyes stood out against his pale skin.

Mycroft’s gaze wavered momentarily before focusing in on Greg’s face. Greg waited, patient as he let Mycroft study him from head to toe.

Then, a shiver racked up Mycroft’s spine. He hesitated, then nodded slightly.

“Greg.”

“See?” Greg said, smiling even as his heart twisted at the sight of how utterly haggard Mycroft looked. “S’just me.”

Mycroft’s muscles suddenly seemed to go slack all at once. He sagged forward, just catching himself from planting face first onto the mattress.

Greg was at his side the next instant, arm around his shoulders.

“S’okay. S’okay,” he murmured, soft for Mycroft’s ear. Gently, he lowered Mycroft onto his back, grabbing an extra pillow to slip under his head. “Let’s just get you comfortable again.”

“W-why are you here?”

Greg paused. “Sherlock. Said – someone should come check on you.”

“Oh.” Mycroft curled away from him onto his side, brow furrowing. “Of course.”

Something conflicted fluttered up in Greg’s chest. Just as quickly, he urged it back down. Now wasn’t the time to think about it.

“Should get you out of that,” Greg said, touching Mycroft’s sleeves. “Sleep better without all those layers on.”

Mycroft made a vague sound of indifference, already fading away. “Go ahead. Doesn’t matter…”

Greg had to ease him onto his back again. Mycroft grumbled a little, but otherwise didn’t complain as Greg undressed him. He was completely under by the time Greg reached his trousers.

Greg ended up pulling off everything except Mycroft’s vest and boxers. He smiled a little at the fact Mycroft still favoured the striped ones. He didn’t know if the suit was still salvageable, but he hung up each piece away. Worry about it later, he supposed.

Greg noticed a familiar knitted quilt in the closet as he was putting away Mycroft’s shoes. He brought out, taking care as he tucked it around Mycroft. He wondered if this was the first time it had gotten any use since that last time he’d seen it. Mycroft didn’t even stir, his breathing slow and steady.

The full extent of his exhaustion was finally making itself known to Greg. He rubbed at his eyes, thinking over his options. Leaving wasn’t one of them. Greg wasn’t having Mycroft wake up without him here, not after what had happened. But being _here_ here when Mycroft did felt a bit too intrusive, all things considered.

He remembered there was a guest room nearby on this floor. With one last glance at Mycroft’s face – not exactly content, but peaceful enough – he headed out into the hall, leaving the door slightly open like he’d found it. The guest room was two doors down.

 _Within hearing distance_ , Greg thought.

He used the ensuite for a quick wash up and stripped down to his pants. He flopped onto the bed, giving a low groan of relief.

Whatever Sherlock and Anthea’s faith was that he could handle this, he wasn’t sure he shared it. Already managed to make Mycroft think he was about to be murdered in his own bed.

Maybe if this had happened back before. When the trust had been so easy and happily given. When they were still-

_Dammit._

He'd tried to put those feelings away, he honestly had. But they'd never really gone. No matter how many times he’d told himself to stop reaching for someone who wasn’t reaching back. Because a part of him wouldn’t. It remembered too well how good it had felt. How his thoughts had been coloured with quiet smiles, warmth in those cool blue eyes, the trail of breath at the end of his name that Greg hadn’t heard since, because no one, _no one_ , said it the way he did.

Greg sighed. He couldn’t think anymore, not tonight. He needed sleep too if he was going to be of any use. He scooted up the bed, settling himself under the covers. He set his phone alarm for nine, guessing that Mycroft’s pills and the stress of his ordeal were going to keep him down for a good while.

Greg would figure out the next step in the morning.

As the memories began blurring into fog and dreams, Greg pressed his face into the pillow and closed his eyes.

Hopefully, Mycroft didn’t end up throwing him out before he did.


	10. How Does It Go? Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg smiled, quietly encouraged to see something of that sharp gaze back.

Funny after two years that Greg hadn’t lost his way around Mycroft’s kitchen. The cookware and appliances were in almost pristine condition besides a little dust, just as they’d been back then. Greg had probably been one of the first to put them to use. Knowing Mycroft’s tragic culinary track record, Greg wouldn’t be surprised if he was also the second.

Greg had looked in on Mycroft after waking up, finding him burrowed deeper under the quilt, still dead to the world. It’d bit longer before he came out of it naturally. Greg had gotten himself a proper shower in the meantime. Thankfully, his clothes from the night before were still reasonably clean. Maybe he’d see if Anthea or someone could run to his flat, bring him a few things.

Mycroft’s fridge was, as expected, a bit lacking in choices. But there were eggs, some butter, and several pieces of bread. Greg scrounged up a few basic spices from one of the cabinets. And of course, plenty of options for tea.

That would be enough to be getting on with.

Greg improvised with a glass to cut circles in the bread slices. He pulled out two plates for later, and set out a frying pan on the range. While he waited for it to heat up, he shot off a quick email on his phone to let work know he wouldn’t be in. It was good timing that the next two days were his weekend. Beyond that, he’d just how to see how this all played out.

It would help if he could figure what exactly his plan was here.

Once the bread was in the pan, Greg went to the fridge and pulled out the butter and eggs. On the higher shelf, he noticed two sad but usable looking tomatoes pushed to the back of the fridge. Taking one, he shut the door, turning back to the stove.

And found Mycroft watching him from hallway.

Greg wasn’t startled, though he felt a little jump in his heart. Mycroft seemed a different man, a little shaky and unkempt from chemically induced sleep, oddly vulnerable in his slippers and checkered dressing gown. But his eyes were steady, his shoulders straight.

Greg smiled, quietly encouraged to see something of that sharp gaze back.

“Morning.”

Mycroft nodded. He glanced at stove and back to Greg, uncertain.

“Got some breakfast going, if you want. Well, mostly making it for you. But I’ll help you out if I make too much.”

“…Thank you.” Mycroft made no move to come into the kitchen. He just watched Greg, his arms drifting into an uneasy fold over his stomach.

“You want to come sit? Won’t take long.” Greg moved to the counter, voice easy as he set down the ingredients. “If you’re still tired, you can head back up to bed, and I’ll bring it up to you.”

Mycroft shook his head. “No. I’m not.“ A moment more of hemming and hawing, and he took a tentative step into the room. “I’d rather down here, if that’s alright.”

Greg gave him another smile, some of that anxiousness reassured.

“Course. Just be a minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for anyone with an opinion on this; is it preferred if I continue this story to it's conclusion if I can? Or, I can leave off it for now to switch over to back to one shots and/or something different, and I'll finish this one in it's own posting outside of November Mystrade? I'm good with either one. :)


	11. How Does It Go?: Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Just felt like spoiling you a bit. That okay?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hookay, back on my track after a bit of a weird day! XD

_“You’ve been busy, I see. How long have you been up?”_

_Greg turned his head towards Mycroft, grinning. “About two hours,” he said. He finished pouring the omelet mixture and began tilting the pan to coat the bottom. “I would have had this ready sooner, but I had to nip down to the closest shop I could find for a few things.”_

_Mycroft glanced at the plastic bags littering the counter. “A few things?”_

_“Breakfast bits, coffee for me, bread, meat and veg, pasta, and some stuff for puddings. You know-” Greg shrugged. “The basics.”_

_Mycroft huffed softly, even as amusement shined in his eyes. “Will we really need that much for one weekend?”_

_“I think we’ll get through most of it. If we don’t, you can just hang onto the rest,” Greg said. He pretended not to notice Mycroft raising his eyebrow._

_“Is this some veiled effort to restock my kitchen?”_

_“Won’t lie, it crossed my mind.” Greg laughed as Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, didn’t buy anything I don’t plan on using. Just felt like spoiling you a bit.” He looked over, a little hesitance overshadowing his enthusiasm. “That okay?”_

_Mycroft smiled, the soft fondness sending a little shiver of joy down Greg’s spine. He watched, heart thrumming as Mycroft crossed the room._

_Gentle arms closed around his waist. A sigh ghosted warm against his ear._

_“I’d like that,” he murmured, pressing close to Greg’s back. “Thank you, Gregory.”_

**_Christ, you’re wonderful._ **

**_Wish it wasn’t just a weekend. Do this every day if you wanted me to._ **

**_Long as it makes you smile like that._ **

_Greg exhaled, carefully, breathing his emotions back to something less intense. “Good to hear.” He turned his head, touched a kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth. “Happy’s a good look on you.”_

_“You make it very easy to be so.” He paused, then asked, “Do you think… when there is time, would you like to spend the weekend here with me again?”_

**_Fuck, yes._ **

_“That’d be great, Myc.” He shifted in Mycroft’s arms, cozying up chest to chest. He leaned forward for a proper kiss._

**_Have me here, as much as you want._ **

**_Keep me with you._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've looked at the comments, and Jalizar posed a very good point. And looking at the progress I'm making and how long I think this may end up being, they're absolutely right that it's gonna be a long one. I feel fairly certain that if I continued, the rest of November Mystrade would be nothing but this story. 
> 
> So, I think their advice is solid that I put a hold on this and move on to other things for now, so I can put this one together on it's own. Plus, this one grew to something much bigger than it started, and I'd like to spend quality time on it without the rush of, "Only got a day to do this part, keep writing, keep writing!"
> 
> Once November Mystrade is done, I'll be hitting back on this one for December, plus editing up the previous parts a little tighter. In the meantime, we'll have a new ditty starting up for the next chapter tomorrow! I hope that's all right with everyone!


	12. Smoke Over the  Water: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right. We should get going too. He’ll be fine, Greg. Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, super late with this. But very happy how it looks.

“Hey, Greg.”

Greg looked up, then stood as John came over.

“Gonna take him over to Bart’s now,” John said. “Don’t think they’ll need to keep him very long, but I just want to be sure there’s no other issues.”

“How’s he doing?”

John shrugged, tired but wry. “Complaining, mostly. His side probably feels like it’s on fire, and he’s a little woozy from the blood loss. But he won’t be down long. Wouldn’t surprised if he tried to come back out here in a few hours.”

Greg gave a humourless chuckle. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

“Well,” John humphed, “not if he’s smart, he won’t.”

“If it helps, there’s really nothing left for him to do here anyway. Got just about everything we need to close this.”

“Don’t think it will, but thanks. You know how Sherlock gets.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“…You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Greg said quickly. “I should get back to it soon. Still a few things to wrap up.”

“Right. We should get going too.” John looked at him, quiet for a moment. “He’ll be fine, Greg. Really.”

Greg tried a smile, but wasn’t sure if he quite got it. “See you two tomorrow, okay? I’ll bring the report along so Sherlock can have a look.”

As John jogged off towards a waiting car, Greg turned, going in search of his sergeant.

“Hey, Donovan?”

Sally looked up from her conversation with one of the elderly neighbors. “Yeah?”

“Mind watching things for a bit? I just want to take a few minutes.”

Sally frowned. She quietly excused herself and came over to join Greg. “Pretty sure we’ve got everything covered here, boss. You can go home if you want.”

Greg rolled his eyes, annoyed. “I’m fine, Donovan. I just want a quick break.”

“I know you’re ‘fine’. But I also know you’ve not had anything except coffee since eight, and done three ten hour shifts already this week.” She crossed her arms, unflinching as he glowered at her. “And now you’re in a sulk because you know I’m right.”

Which frustrated Greg even more. Damn logic. He exhaled a gruff sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ll head out then.”

Her expression softened. “It’s been a night, Greg,” she said, glancing around at the milling police personal and the few onlookers curious about the disturbance on their normally quiet street. “Sherlock’s still not one of my favorite people, but – I’m really glad he was here.”

Greg’s throat tightened a bit uncomfortably. He swallowed past it.

“Yeah. Me too.”

She smiled kindly. “Go on with you,” she said, giving him a light push towards the officers’ vehicles. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

Greg nodded. Then-

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Greg headed to where he was parked. But as he reached it, he passed by and kept going. He still felt too restless to go back to his flat, or even to drive. So he walked, moving out of the Albert Terrace Mews and south towards Regent’s Park. It wasn’t much, but mindless movement and the quiet air did a little bit to clear his head.

It seemed only moments before the Broad Walk stretched out in front of him. He came to about the middle of the bridge and stopped, looking out on the murky mass of water below. The cold had deepened, making him push his hands into his coat pockets. As he did, his fingers brushed against the rectangular box buried down next to the small plastic lighter.

_Hell with it._

It was of the older packs he’d forgotten about since he’d started cutting down. He’d been doing a pretty good job of it too. Sometimes, he went a few days straight without smoking a single one. But now the craving resurfaced, a nagging itch in the back of his mind.

 _Little pathetic_ , he thought as he eased a cigarette out. _Desperate enough that you’d smoke from a month old carton._

_About right, I guess._

He was just about to light up when the voice spoke.

“Detective Inspector.”

He paused. Turned and saw the shrewd blue eyes, the dark pinstripe, that umbrella that was probably kept more as an prop than as any useful tool against the rain.

Greg sighed.

“Evening, Mr. Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually based on a lovely piece of commissioned art I saw. Always wanted to write a piece on it.


	13. Smoke Over the Water: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not brooding."
> 
> “What do you prefer I call it then?”

Mycroft smiled. Or at least his vague approximation of one. He moved further onto the bridge, indicating the spot next to Greg with the tip of his umbrella.

“May I join you?”

Greg shrugged, dropping his gaze to fiddle with his lighter. “Do what you like.”

_Bloody well know you’re going to anyway._

Mycroft’s feet fell light and even against the ground. They stopped a few steps away from Greg, turning to face the river. Greg finally got his cigarette lit and inhaled, grimacing at the flavour. He didn’t see Mycroft’s brow lift, but it was easy enough to imagine.

“Didn’t see when you got here,” he said, coughing once.

“You were otherwise preoccupied with Dr. Watson when I arrived. I took the time to have a few words with my brother, little as he appreciated it. I rather thought I’d missed the chance to speak with you as well, but your sergeant was kind enough to point me in the right direction.”

“Followed me then?”

“You make it sound so ominous.”

“Not wrong though, am I?”

Mycroft gave a soft, dry chuckle.

“I suppose not.”

Greg wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“His wound was quite superficial, you know,” Mycroft continued. “If anything, my sympathies are with the hospital staff. Sherlock can be an unholy terror as a patient.”

Greg grunted, more acknowledging the words than agreeing with them. “I’d be at Bart’s with them if I thought any different.” He exhaled a stream of smoke and pulled another face.

With a sigh, Mycroft reached out and plucked the cigarette from Greg’s fingers. He sniffed at it, scoffed, and flicked it out over the water.

“Oi!”

“You’d get more out of smoking toilet paper,” Mycroft said disdainfully. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a black cigarette case, flipping it open with his thumb.

“Here. They’re low tar, but something of an improvement over yours. Better for brooding with.”

Greg scowled, but grudgingly took a cigarette and placed it between his lips. “I’m not brooding,” he grumbled, patting through his pocket again. He heard a click and looked up to find Mycroft holding out a silver lighter.

“What do you prefer I call it then?” he asked as he ignited the spark, his tone a fine line between polite and condescending.

Greg glared a moment more before leaning forward. He felt Mycroft’s eyes on him as he touched the cigarette tip to the flame.

“Thinking,” he said, stepping back. “Might surprise you and Sherlock to know I am capable of it.”

“How good to hear. I do so like to be up-to-date on the status of your cognitive functions.”

Greg took a deep drag, trying to hide the smile twitching on the edges of his mouth. “Arsehole.”

“Wanker,” Mycroft returned just as easily.

A single note of laughter escaped Greg, throwing off his bad temper. One surprising thing he’d learned about Mycroft over the years; in casual company, the man would occasionally toss out swears worthy of a dockworker, and yet he still came off utterly posh in the process. Greg had always liked the contradiction of it.

“This your way of cheering me up?”

“And what could you possibly need cheering up for? You’re only thinking, remember?”

“Okay, okay,” Greg conceded. He cast a sidelong glance at Mycroft. “Gotta be right about everything, don’t you?”

“Of course not. I just often am.”

“…You know why he did it then?”

Mycroft blinked, cautious puzzlement crossing his face.

“You mean, saved your life?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finish this one tomorrrroowwwwwwww...


	14. Smoke Over the Water: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is it really so hard to believe that you might mean something to him?”

An uncomfortable sensation crowded around Greg’s heart. He let in and out another lungful of smoke, trying to numb it down. The images playing through his mind had a surreal clarity to them. The flash of metal coming at him faster than he could understand. The impact from a hard shove; the sudden jarring contact with the ground.

The icy, sick feeling searing into his chest as he sat up and saw Sherlock on his back, clutching at his side; a streak of something dark and red quickly spreading across his shirt.

Greg cleared his throat, looking out into the darkness. “Still trying to wrap my head around it, to be honest.”

“The incident, or my brother’s actions?”

“That he’d-“ Greg fumbled, too close to the memory to be able to verbalise it. He shook his head. “Just didn’t expect it, you know? He doesn’t even remember my name half the time.”

“And yet, he placed himself in the path of a knife for you,” Mycroft said pointedly. “What might we infer from that?”

Greg didn’t know how to answer that. He stood, quiet as he carried on with his cigarette. Right then, he felt every bit the slow, unobservant twit Sherlock often criticised him of being.

He heard a soft sigh.

“Is it really so hard to believe that you might mean something to him?”

That brought his eyes back to Mycroft. He found that steady gaze trained on him, the familiar sense of being seen through like glass.

Greg made a gruff hmm sound.

“Guess I figured he mostly thought I was an idiot.”

“On occasion, yes. But he thinks that of practically everyone, myself included.” Mycroft hooked his umbrella over his arm as he spoke, retrieving his little black case and taking out a new cigarette. He’d just gotten out his lighter again when Greg held out his palm.

“I got it,” Greg said.

Mycroft’s brow rose marginally, but Greg just made a quick beckoning motion. With a shrug, Mycroft handed the lighter off, stepping closer as Greg flicked open the top.

They were close enough for Greg to hear the faint drag of air through Mycroft’s lips, the tiny blush of flames settling into an orange glow on the cigarette’s tip. Mycroft’s eyes caught Greg’s a brief moment, darker in the low light. Then he straightened, breathing out a stream of white wisp.

“I did ask Sherlock why he did it, when we spoke earlier.”

“Yeah? What’d he say?”

An inscrutable sort of smile crossed Mycroft’s face. “`Because Lestrade is essential. Obviously.`”

Greg’s laugh was little more than a huff of breath through his nose. “Typical Sherlock,” he said, smirking.

“Well, it does rather get the point across.”

Greg noticed his cigarette was close to being a stub. He let it fall, grinding it under his shoe. “What time is it?”

Mycroft checked his watch. “Close to ten.”

“Right.” Greg sighed, glancing in the direction he’d come from. He looked back at Mycroft, who watched him quietly.

“Want to get a drink?”

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Something playful emerged in Greg’s tone. Mycroft’s eyes widened a touch when he heard it. “Bit of a thank you for `cheering me up`.”

Mycroft tilted his head, just a slight, owlish gesture as he gave the idea some thought.

Then he nodded.

“Where do you suggest?”

“Saw a little place a couple blocks away. S’not too far, if you don’t mind the walk.”

“Not at all. It will give me a chance to finish this,” Mycroft said, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

A realisation occurred. “Ah, right.” Greg offered back Mycroft’s lighter. “Almost forgot.”

Mycroft waved his hand, starting towards the street. “Keep it.”

“Wait, what? You’re just giving it to me?”

“You need a proper one.”

“Wait, wait, how much was this?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Not nearly as much as you’re thinking.” He stopped under the one of the bridge lamps and turned back, eyeing Greg expectantly. “You may buy me dinner as well, if you wish to feel more even about it.”

_Oh._

Greg felt it, just the bare tremble of something up his spine.

_Interesting._

“Might not be serving food at this hour,” he said, testing. “Know a good place near my flat, though, if you’re free later this week.”

Mycroft smiled again, more noticeably this time.

“We’ll see what we can arrange, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha, this one fought me. But it's done yeahhhhhh!


	15. Favours: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kindly lower your voice. I am simply doing my job.”

Mycroft sighed.

“There’s no point in lashing out at me, Detective Inspector. I’m merely the messenger in all this.”

“Should maybe send someone else here next time,” Greg muttered. He shoved a few files into his desk and roughly shut the drawer.

“For goodness sake, this isn't personal-“

“I know it’s not bloody personal! Doesn’t exactly change things though, does it?”

“Kindly lower your voice,” Mycroft said, growing more and more terse. “I am simply doing my job.”

“Yeah, so was I-!”

“And may I make it clear to you that I have no obligation to come here in person, but I do so out of respect to you. So I’ll thank you not to snap at me when I go out of my way to show you professional courtesy!”

They glared at each other as seconds ticked by, Greg’s jaw clenched rigid and Mycroft’s hand tightened around his umbrella handle.

Greg finally exhaled, hard, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “Fine.” He turned away, sitting down heavily in his chair. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“It’s an unfortunate situation all around,” said Mycroft, pulling back to his polite, even tones. “Despite what you may think, even I must answer to higher powers. I had hoped they wouldn’t find it necessary to intercede in this case, but-“ He made a vague, `nothing-to-be-done` sort of gesture. “It’s out of both of our hands, I’m afraid.”

Greg shot him an irritated look. “Tell that to my team. Months of legwork and overtime, and the suits just swipe it all out from under us.” He hunched forward and put his face in his hands. “Fucking bullshit.”

Mycroft frowned, disquiet prodding in the back of his mind. It wasn’t as though it were the first time his department had gone over Greg’s. But then again, none of those previous cases had been as large in scale as this one.

It was actually bit… disheartening to see Greg taking it this hard.

“I am sorry about this, Lestrade. Truly. I suppose that’s of little consolation, but-“

“Nah.“ Greg straightened, his anger petered out into weary resignation. “You’re right, it’s not your fault.” He rubbed at his eyes, sighing. “S’just bloody frustrating.”

Mycroft watched Greg a moment, thinking. He shifted his stance.

“You’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless I’m mistaken.”

Greg looked up, puzzled.

“You’re not.”

“And I imagine that your evening is now more or less - free.”

Annoyance flickered across Greg’s face – ah, bit too direct, Mycroft thought. Well, no way around it, really. He continued on.

“So, I’d like to offer you dinner.”

Greg’s brow lifted. He eyed Mycroft curiously.

“Dinner.”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. I realise it’s rather poor compensation for your hard work. But perhaps it might go some way in making it up to you?”

“Huh.” Greg leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. A slight smile caught on his lips.

“It might. What exactly do you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: We're upping that rating level tomorrow. Just didn't want to blindside anyone. XD


	16. Favours: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go on. Use me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating increase, yayayayayayaya!

“Oh, fuck-!”

Greg screwed his face into the pillow, clawing the sheets below him into a talon-like grasp. His muffled grunts were desperate counterpoints to each thrust.

Long, manicured fingers drove deep into his hair, coiling through the strands. Greg gasped as his head was forced back into the air.

“Well, Lestrade?” Mycroft breathed in his ear. “Good?”

Greg nodded, frantically, too far from words to manage a coherent response. A kick from Mycroft’s hips tore a loud cry from his throat, making some deeply buried part of Mycroft’s psyche rumble with pride. And Greg’s body felt delicious around his cock, all slickness and warmth, yielding to him beautifully. He set his lips against Greg’s neck, feeling the continuous little shivers running underneath the skin.

_Delightful._

Greg was fast approaching his limit. Twice Mycroft had taken him to within a breath of orgasm. The changes in Greg’s breathing and involuntary flutters of tension let Mycroft know exactly when to slow his thrusts, or in the case of the second time, stop completely.

He’d never so thoroughly enjoyed being called a bastard in all his life.

Now though, looking down at the arch of Greg’s back, the sheen of sweat over his skin, the way his arms and thighs shook in his efforts not to collapse forward…

Mycroft found he didn’t have the heart or endurance to deny Greg a third time.

Wrapping an arm around Greg’s middle, Mycroft lifted him up and back onto his lap. Greg’s confused “Wha-“ immediately cut into a groan as Mycroft took hold of his waist and pulled down, hard.

“Go on,” he whispered, low and insistent. He curled a hand into place around Greg’s length, purpose behind his grip. “Use me.”

Greg’s breathing sharpened. When Mycroft began stroking him, he shuddered, rocking into it. Tentativeness quickly melted into instinct – Greg developing a deep, demanding rhythm, fucking himself on Mycroft’s cock with mindless abandon. Mycroft met him thrust for thrust, letting sensation overtake any thought that wasn’t _yes_ and _take_ and _Greg, fuck, Greg_ -

Mycroft gasped, dragging Greg in against his chest, clinging to him as he came with a guttural moan. He felt Greg’s body stiffen, his pattern stuttering as fluid pulsed through Mycroft’s fingers. Greg ground down once more, taking Mycroft deep as he could, shaking and cursing as though he might fall apart.

Calm slowly descended again.

It seemed some time before either moved, heaving breaths scattering in the silence. Greg trembled in his arms, his head slumped forward. Carefully, Mycroft eased him onto his side, running a gentle hand through his hair before standing and heading into the bathroom. After wiping himself down, he returned with a freshly wetted washcloth.

Greg shivered as Mycroft cleaned him.

“Fuck me,” he murmured, dazed.

“I rather think I just did.”

Greg giggled, biting his lip and stretching as the cloth dipped between his legs. Mycroft watched the little pleasurable flickers in Greg’s expression, oddly charmed for some reason.

Against his better judgment, he found himself wondering at the possibility of another night like this. Mycroft didn’t normally dabble in casual liaisons, especially with work associates. But he couldn’t deny the appeal of having Greg Lestrade in his bed again.

Mycroft tossed the soiled cloth towards the bathroom door. It would be dealt with in the morning. As he settled under the covers, Greg rolled towards him, eyes questioning.

“Don’t know if it’s your thing but-” he sidled closer. “You mind? Haven’t had a decent cuddle in ages.”

Mycroft considered, then nodded. Greg huffed a contented noise and burrowed against him, tangling their legs together.

“Thanks.” Greg sighed against Mycroft’s collarbone. “Christ, needed that. Think I’ve needed that for a while now.”

Mycroft smiled, idly drawing his fingers back and forth along Greg’s shoulder blades. “Does that mean I can count myself back in your good graces?”

Greg snickered. “Be a bit of a dick move to say no after all that.”

“Marginally redeemed then, let’s say.”

“…Hey, I was thinking…”

Mycroft glanced down. “Yes?”

“Something else you could do that might help with that.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Greg shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His gaze lingered on Mycroft’s, flicked down to his lips, and back.

He leaned closer.

Mycroft watched, his heart making a quick little double thump. Greg let their noses brush, checking Mycroft’s response. Then he tilted his head. Their lips touched once, twice - moving soft against each other, parting to test things further.

Greg sighed when he finally pulled back, something profound behind his smile.

“Owed me one of those,” he said, eyes shining.

_Oh, you are going to be interesting, aren’t you?_

With a nod, Mycroft reached up and pulled Greg down to him again.

“I think you’re owed a few more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed this one, was fun to write!


	17. Warmer With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But - surely we’re not continuing on?”
> 
> “Why not? Little snow never hurt anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little dialogue story tonight. Missed doing these. I also like bitchy Mycroft. XD

“I regret this already.”

“Well, at least you gave it a good five minutes. Might be a record.”

“It’s been longer than that.”

“Has it? Hang on, I’ll check. …Oh, ten minutes, my mistake.”

"Your humour scintillates, which is more than I can say for the temperature.”

“Brisk walk isn’t going to kill you, Myc."

"The walk itself, no, but the climbing chill in the air could wreck havoc on my respiratory functions."

"That's what your scarf is for. Come on, it’s not much farther now. Supposed to be a really impressive view over by the lake.”

“Hmph. While I do on occasion find nature to be both ascetically pleasing and even mildly pleasant, I don’t see why I must physically place myself in it's midst."

“Because we’re on holiday in a gorgeous area. Considering what it costs, we ought to be making the most of it.”

“I thought we were doing quite well at that while indoors. There was wine there, as I recall. And heat.”

“And they’ll both still be there when we get back.”

“The things I do for you, Gregory. My shoes are hardly suited for this sort of venture.”

“Don’t worry, it’s an easy walk.”

“Wait, is…? Gregory, it’s snowing.”

“Hm? Oh, hey, it is! That’s lovely, innit?”

“But - surely we’re not continuing on?”

“Why not? Little snow never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, goodness sake-”

“Myc, are you seriously getting out your umbrella?”

“Well, I need something to cover my head.”

“No, no, no, you put that away.”

“But-“

“Just come here, you great prat.”

“…..”

“There, that’s better. You just stick close and I’ll keep you warm.”

“I’ll still get snow on my face.”

“Not the worst thing, is it? Puts colour in your cheeks. It’s a good look.”

"...It is?"

"Yeah. I'd call that look wholly kissable, even."

“Hm. Ever the romantic, I see.”

“So you don’t want kisses, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Heh…”

“…Gregory…”

“…So. Okay to keep going?”

“I suppose I can stand to brave the elements for a touch longer. So long as I receive due appreciation for it when we return to the hotel."

"You think I wasn't planning on it already? How does room service, warm blankets, and a movie on the couch sound?

“Wine too?”

“Wine too.”

“Hm. And perhaps something a bit more hands on later tonight?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“Perfect. Do lead on then. I believe I’ve gained a second wind.”


	18. Matter of Opinion: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God, that’s nice. Fucking gorgeous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work's been getting the better of me lately, so this part's a bit of shortie.

It’s after their first time together, as they lay panting on Mycroft’s bed in a sweaty tangle of limbs and sheets. Mycroft stares at the top of Greg’s head, only just starting to sort what’s left of his brain cells into something resembling coherent thought. He’ll be lucky if he’s able to walk straight tomorrow. 

Greg stirs, shuddering. He shifts to rest his chin on Mycroft’s chest, smile and hair all askew. 

He exhales.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Mycroft only has a few seconds to be conscious of his own bewilderment before Greg’s mouth is on his again, a coaxing tongue teasing at the seam of his lips. The comment is rather quickly forgotten after that. 

Just one of those post-coital anomalies, he supposes.

Then, a week or so later at his office in Whitehall. Back against the wall, pants and trousers down; Greg kneeling at his feet, happily nuzzling at his thighs. At this point Mycroft is convinced he just has no sense of propriety left. Strange that he feels no regret about that fact.

Fingers curl over Mycroft’s bum, digging in hard enough that Mycroft has to bite down on an unseemly squeak. He’s all too aware of how sound travels in this building.

“God, that’s nice,” Greg rumbles, the breath of it gusting against Mycroft’s nethers. He lifts his head, cocking an appraising eyebrow. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Mycroft's lips twitch, parting with a question that doesn’t emerge. Greg just grins, leans in, and suddenly talking is quite the last thing on Mycroft’s mind. 

Though he does make a quick mental note to look into how much soundproofing the office will cost.


	19. Matter of Opinion: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s… easy. Genuine.

Mycroft hears similar endearments as they continue with their arrangement. Greg is prone to them, with `gorgeous` in particular getting frequent usage. It’s not limited to the bedroom, either. They often appear in Greg’s increasingly playful texts, or emerge during conversation with a wink and a grin.

Mycroft’s a little mystified by it, if he’s honest. Like he’s being told the sky is green. It seems harmless though. Flattering too.

That’s the funny thing about Greg. Mycroft never finds his affection tiresome, or forced.

It’s… easy. Genuine.

So much so that when Greg tentatively broaches the idea of a proper relationship, saying yes makes quite a bit of sense.

Of course, Mycroft is somewhat apprehensive about diving into this sort of venture, given his poor track record with boyfriends over a lifetime. But Greg isn’t in a rush, and he’s patient as Mycroft eases himself into their new dynamic.

Over the next month, the shifts occur little by little. Items begin migrating between their flats. Toiletries, spare suits – things to make it simpler to stay overnight if one or both of them has an early morning. Meals together are more frequent, whether it’s a lunch when schedules are open, or an evening in, helping each other cook. Leaving off the second syllable of Mycroft’s name becomes a regular thing with Greg.

`Gorgeous`, though. That hasn’t changed. Greg still uses it fondly, saved for those moments when it’s just the two of them. Mycroft’s come to accept that he may never fully understand the logic for it. Greg is just kind, and Mycroft is content to let him be.

After all, there’s never been a need to dwell on the specifics.


	20. Matter of Opinion: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was hardly a complicated endeavor.”

Surprisingly, it’s the cooking that Mycroft develops a newfound appreciation for. He’s always been despairingly poor at it, beyond being able to put together a cup of tea. Greg, on the other hand, has a fair amount of skill in the kitchen.

“I’m really not that good,” says Greg one time. “S’just me following someone else’s instructions.” He glances at Mycroft, smiling. “I can teach you the basics if you want.”

There are more awkwardly cut vegetables and incorrectly measured ingredients than Mycroft will ever admit to, not to mention the fire alarm incident. Not that there aren’t positives. Little things like Greg’s hands sliding down his arms to guide his movements, or taste testing from a held-out spoon. There’s something lovely about the unexpected intimacy of it all.

Mycroft quickly gains more confidence, finding that he might not be completely hopeless after all. His first attempt at dinner on his own - rosemary chicken with roasted potatoes and asparagus – goes off with only minor hitches, though Greg’s warm approval throughout the meal makes him feel as though he’s managed something much more impressive.

“It was hardly a complicated endeavor.”

“Bollocks. You should be proud of this. Used to burn your own toast half the time, and now look at you.” Greg leans back in his chair, sighing in satisfaction. “Gonna lap me at this rate.”

Mycroft quietly delights in the praise.

“There’s enough for seconds if you’d like a bit more.”

“Nah, pretty full now,” Greg says, getting to his feet. “How ‘bout I help clean up and then we watch something for a bit?”

Mycroft nods. He allows Greg to assist with putting the leftovers in the fridge, then promptly shoos him away.

“I can handle the rest. Go pick out a movie for us while I finish.”

Greg huffs, smirking. “Fine, fine.” He presses a kiss to Mycroft’s cheek, chuckling as Mycroft gives him a gentle push towards the door. “See you in a few, Myc.”

The dishes are washed and set aside in a matter of minutes. Before Mycroft leaves, he gets out the bottle of vermouth he’s been saving, along with two glasses.

Greg looks up from his seat on the couch when Mycroft enters, eyebrow rising.

“Drinks, then?”

“Something different tonight, I thought,” Mycroft says, sitting next to him.

Greg scoots in closer, watching him pour two fingers out for the both of them. “Spoiling me now, gorgeous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I like the sense of the story, but not sure on the execution? If I repost this one, it'll get some revamping, I think.


	21. Matter of Opinion: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has he really been doing that? Without noticing at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrated)! Got super busy with family, so writing was tough to get to. This particular story will be wrapped up in the next part!

_Hm._

Mycroft glances at Greg, smiling lightly. “No more than usual, I’d think.” He takes Greg’s drink in hand, holding it out to him. “Here you are.”

“…Why do you do that?”

Mycroft blinks, brow furrowing. “Do what?”

Greg sits up, gently taking the glass and setting it aside.

“That look,” he says, turning towards Mycroft. “Kinda been wondering what it’s about.”

Mycroft frowns in puzzlement. “Did I do something strange?”

“Not exactly. S’just - you looked a little off when I called you gorgeous just now. Not the first time either.”

“Oh.” Mycroft glances away, frowning.

Has he really been doing that? Without noticing at all?

Disconcertment prickles up his arms at the thought.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I hadn’t realised-“

“Whoa, wait a sec, Myc.” Greg reaches over, his hand a gentle weight on Mycroft’s.

Mycroft looks up again.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” says Greg, reassuringly. “Just trying to understand, that’s all.” He draws his thumb over Mycroft’s knuckles in a soothing, back and forth motion. “You not like it when I say that?”

“It’s nothing like that.” Mycroft’s mouth twitches into something of a self-conscious smile. “`Gorgeous` is just a bit…“

“Bit what?” Greg asks, gaze steady.

Mycroft sighs.

“Well, it hardly suits me, does it?”


	22. Matter of Opinion: Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing?”
> 
> “Making a point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story's fighting me. But if I can do some catch-up, the next part shouldn't be quite as long a wait. (fingers crossed!)

Greg’s expression doesn’t exactly change, but Mycroft feels the shift of weight behind his eyes. Few things in this world cause Mycroft to quiet like when Greg looks at him this way. He watches Greg edge that much closer, fingers curling around and lifting Mycroft's hand up.

“Yeah,” Greg says, “it does.”

Something inside Mycroft shivers as Greg’s lips brush over his palm. Greg’s eyes flick to Mycroft’s face a moment, taking in his expression, then lower again. Carefully, he begins undoing Mycroft’s cuffs.

“G-Gregory…?”

Without looking, Greg gives a small half-smile. He sets one cufflink aside.

“Hm?”

Mycroft swallows.

“What are you doing?”

The other cufflink joins the first. “Making a point.” With the shirtsleeves opened, Greg’s mouth descends onto Mycroft’s pale wrist, his tongue probing gently at his pulse point.

Maybe he can actually feel Mycroft’s heart rate climbing.

“Can I take all this off?” Greg asks, raising his head. He slides a hand over Mycroft’s waistcoat buttons, further still to his shoulder. “So I can look at you properly.”

Mycroft has to take a steadying breath against a strange, nervous flutter in his throat. He nods, not trusting how his voice might sound if he tried to speak.

Thankfully, Greg seems to understand. With a smile, he gets to his feet, offering a hand to Mycroft.

“Bedroom, I think,” he says. “Need a bit more space for this.”


	23. Matter of Opinion: Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “S’just me. Always just been me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two part post today!

Greg undresses first – slow, almost leisurely in his pace. Every so often he glances up, eyes crinkling with fondness. Over on the edge of the bed, Mycroft watches, lips parted, nerves humming in his veins. Countless times they’ve been together, many times in this very room – learning each other’s bodies in the most intimate ways possible.

Yet right then, Mycroft feels as inexperienced as though transported back to those graceless, stumbling days of his youth, hardly able to articulate what he was, much less what he wanted.

Greg’s boxers drop to the floor last. He stands, waiting as Mycroft’s eyes travel the length of him; smiling knowingly when they dip below his waist.

_Want_ shivers through Mycroft.

Greg comes to him, stepping into the V of Mycroft’s opened legs. Mycroft reaches for him at once, pressing his face to Greg's chest, familiar skin and the scent of male warmth softening the anxiety. He hears “Myc…” breathed into his hair and squeezes his eyes shut, mortified at his own shyness.

“S’just me. Always just been me.”

At Greg’s gentle urging, Mycroft pulls back, weak as Greg tilts his chin up.

“Lemme see you, gorgeous,” Greg whispers.

Mycroft’s soul shudders.

“Please,” he says.

Greg leans down for Mycroft’s mouth, shuffling up onto his lap. Mycroft feels the press of Greg’s prick against his clothes, already half-hard. He whimpers in a way he’ll most likely be embarrassed about later.

“Lay back," Greg says. "Gonna take care of you.”


	24. Matter of Opinion: Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nearly there, love, that’s it, let me see…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double story post today, so head back a chapter if you haven't read it!

Jacket, tie, waistcoat, shirt, trousers. Greg seems intent on pouring soft praise and touches over every inch of skin he uncovers. Mycroft loses track of the minutes, writhing and moaning as Greg exploits the most sensitive places on his chest, belly, and thighs. The amount of attention lavished on his nipples is toe-curlingly effective.

A pause occurs so Greg can retrieve lube from Mycroft’s nightstand. He settles in at Mycroft’s side, one hand a slick, perfect ring of pressure up and down his cock, while the other eases through Mycroft's hair, soothing back the wayward strands as Mycroft grinds his head back against the pillows.

“Nearly there, love, that’s it, let me see…”

The words swirl and meld with the building pleasure; Mycroft gasps for more even as it’s too much. He can’t keep his eyes open, too far gone to make the effort. But he knows Greg is watching, can hear it in the low husk of his voice, the insistent strokes of his hand. Greg’s eyes on him, seeing everything, seeing him completely, and fuck, Mycroft can’t, he needs-

Greg’s fingers suddenly tighten in his hair, just the slightest sharpening of sensation that plummets him over the edge. Mycroft sobs out a choked cry as he's overtaken. His ears ring from it, the feeling convulsing through him in a lingering wave.

He finally heaves a final gasp, slumping back against the bed in a heap of trembling limbs. He feels Greg still at his side, shaking as well. Something soft caresses against his lips, and he gives a needy moan.

“Gregory... you too.”

Greg laughs breathlessly.

“I’m good.”

“But, you haven’t-“

“Actually, I did.”

Mycroft opens his eyes, finding Greg looking down at him, dazed contentment in his smile. A quick glance down to the right shows the new wet spot on the sheets.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Greg says, amused. “Didn’t take much after seeing that.”

Mycroft flushes, though not exactly in embarrassment.

“That was – quite wonderful, Gregory.”

“Mm.” Greg kisses the colour on Mycroft’s cheeks. “Glad you liked it.” He pulls back, eyes shining. “Bloody gorgeous watching you.”

And for the first time, the word prompts not uncertainty, but a stirring of pleasure. Perhaps even a little pride.

With a sigh, Mycroft rolls on his side, curling into Greg’s body with sleepy satisfaction.

“Thank you. I believe I’m warming up to the concept considerably now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one's done! Should have been done sooner since I would prefer the chapters be longer, but that one's on me. Next one coming!


	25. Just a Little Push: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So I did well?”
> 
> “Depends. Not making this a habit, are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked writing drunk Greg a bit too much. Soooo, here's some drunk Mycroft. XD

The stars were out. It was a nice sight, especially after a week of overcast skies. Darkness settling in for the night, and the air edging into a chill. Even at this hour, the sounds of laughter could be heard from countless fresher parties that were still in full swing.

It’d been a good night; spent with friends, music, and drinks.

“Uhrmmmm…Greg, carry me.”

Maybe a few too many drinks for some.

“Am carrying you, mate.”

“Carry me properly.”

Greg huffed, tightening his arm around the stumbling mass of limbs next to him. “Don’t think I can manage that.”

“Ohhhh why?” came the snippy response. Greg glanced sideways to find a pair of watery blue eyes narrowed in his direction. “Are you implying that I’m heavy?”

“Yes, you’re heavy, because you’re also _tall_ , you great git.”

There was a quick, sulky sort of sniff. “I’m only twelve stone, I’ll have you know…”

Greg sighed. He stopped, and his companion raised a curious eyebrow.

“Right, fine. If that’s what you want.“

“Hm? Wait, Greg, Greg-!”

In a few smooth motions, Greg hoisted a floundering body over his shoulders, curled his arm around the back of the right knee, and grabbed hold of the right wrist.

“Don’t go falling off, Myc.”

“T-this isn’t what I meant!” protested Mycroft weakly. He clutched at Greg’s free arm as they continued down the road.

“Should have specified then.”

“What if someone sees?”

“You can just pretend you’re asleep.”

“Ughhhh…” Mycroft’s head drooped. “This is so undignified,” he muttered.

“Maybe should have thought of that earlier? Before the whiskey was involved?”

“Rory Haskell is a posturing blowhard,” Mycroft scowled. “It was high time someone put him in his place.”

“Y’know he baited you, right?”

Greg heard the smirk in Mycroft’s voice before he even spoke.

“Why do you think I accepted? And you may notice that I emerged the victor.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Greg turned down a side path that cut behind a row of halls. “You got right loaded, dinnit' you?”

Mycroft pfffted at Greg, snickering. “Pleeease. I’ve seen harder drinking at one of my father’s cocktail parties. Required attendance since I was sixteen, you know.”

Greg laughed quietly. “Christ, look on his face when you kept going. Bloody priceless.” He heard a soft hmm sound, Mycroft’s cheek settling against his shoulder.

“So I did well?”

“Depends. Not making this a habit, are you?”

“Ugh, Lord no. This was a matter a principle, not enjoyment.”

“Heh. Okay, you did good, then.”

The rest of the trip was mostly silent. Mycroft seemed to doze off, though he made a few sleepy mumbles. Greg had a good grip on him, but by the time they reached the house, his back was starting to feel it.

“Okay, just–“ Greg carefully lowered Mycroft to his feet and started searching for his keys. “Sorry, gotta set you here for a sec, Mykie…”

“Mrrrgrrrmph…”

“Right. Myc.”

“Better.”

Mycroft only managed to remain leaning against the wall for a few seconds before sliding to the porch with a thump. He tightened up into a ball, grumbling.

“Cold…”

“Yeah, it is.” Greg winced at the loud creak when he got the door open. Then he remembered his flat mates were probably still out partying anyway.

“Okay, in we go,” he said, pulling Mycroft up and guiding him inside with a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait, am I staying here tonight?” Mycroft asked, swaying a little as Greg shut the door behind them.

“Well, I’m not carrying you all the way back to your place. My bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Mycroft huffed, unsteadily making his way down the hall with Greg. “The couch is fine.”

“You’re gonna be miserable enough in the morning. May as well at least get a proper sleep.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Mycroft said, waving an indifferent hand and accidentally smacking his knuckles against the wall. Greg chuckled at the yelp and subsequent glare he got.

“Come on, you.” He gently pushed Mycroft through the open door to his room. “You’ll thank me later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I get this done (and that's a bit of an if), the next part of this will be up shortly. Playing a bit of catch up.


	26. Just a Little Push: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry. Should’ve gotten mucky with you.”
> 
> “Nooooo, no, no. At least one of us should maintain some good sense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huyup, still going. XD

Mycroft plodded over to the bed and promptly flopped face first onto the mattress.

“Ohhhh, God, that is nice.”

Greg smirked, shutting the door. “New sheets. Got them from Mum last week.”

Mycroft sighed contentedly, nuzzling into the comforter. “Mmm, lovely.”

“Be sure to thank her for you,” Greg said, kicking off his shoes. He grabbed up a pillow and tossed it on top of Mycroft’s head, prompting an affronted `murph`. “You sleeping in your clothes?”

It took Mycroft an uncoordinated moment to sit up, the pillow dropping to his side. “Rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“’S’fine. Think those cigs you had hung on, if I’m honest.”

Mycroft pulled off his slipover, his nose wrinkling.

“Dear Lord, you’re right,” he said, sniffing at the wool. He looked to Greg with a pensive frown. “Is my hair mucky too? I can’t tell.”

Greg shrugged, tossing his shirt into the hamper. “Might be.” Glancing over, he smiled at Mycroft’s mortified expression. “Oh, you’re gonna be fussing about it now, aren’t you?”

“…No. M’not fussy…”

“Not what I said, though yeah, you are.” Moving to the bed, Greg cupped the back of Mycroft’s head and leaned down, inhaling.

“It’s not bad,” he said fondly. “Just a little mucky.”

Mycroft hmphed, either in discontentment, or amusement. Greg wasn’t sure.

“You’re not though. Terribly unfair.”

“Am a bit.”

“No.” Greg stilled as Mycroft’s forehead tipped against his chest. He heard a soft, inward breath. “You smell fine.”

Greg smiled, rumpling Mycroft’s hair into gentle disorder. The clinging scent of smoke really wasn’t that noticeable, truth be told. Mostly, there was just Mycroft – something indistinct, woodsy in a way.

“Sorry. Should’ve gotten mucky with you.”

“Nooooo, no, no,” Mycroft drawled. He pulled back, a stern crook to his brow. “At least one of us should maintain some good sense.”

“What, and that’s me now?”

“Well, I’ve already botched things on that front, so-”

Mycroft’s goofy little snigger set off Greg as well. They both swiftly crumpled into laughter, leaning into each other as they shook from it.

“Cheeky git,” Greg huffed out, holding Mycroft steady through his convulsions.

“Utterly h-hopeless, aren’t I?”

Grinning, Greg propped his chin on top of Mycroft’s head, breath stirring through the auburn strands.

“Yeah. Probably why we get on so well.”

“Hmhm…” Mycroft shuddered through one last giggle. He exhaled a lengthy sigh against Greg’s vest. “I rather agree.”

There was a stretch of quiet, the two of them just breathing together. Greg could feel the warmth from Mycroft’s palms as they laid on his hips.

“C’mon.” Greg moved back, reaching for Mycroft’s shirt. “Should get the rest of your stuff off, ‘less you’re sleeping in it.”

“I can manage,” came the soft mutter.

“Know that. Just saving you a step.”

The line of buttons was swiftly dealt with. Greg had just finished with the final one when Mycroft’s hand appeared over his own.

He paused, glancing up. Found Mycroft looking back; cheeks slightly pink, eyes burning with a hazy sort of intensity.

As Mycroft lifted his chin, it occurred to Greg that alcohol might not be the reason for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life kinda of kicked me in the butt hard around the end of November. I've been writing at this since, ignoring my own "write fast and post" rule. But I am going to conclude this. Sorry again for the large delay.


	27. Just a Little Push: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You never said anything."
> 
> “It’s not something I understood. But… I’ve wondered. For some time.”

“Myc-?“

Warm lips gently cut Greg off. They moved slow; retreating once to draw in air, then returning again, their hesitance fading with each passing second. Fingers cupped behind Greg’s neck, a silent request for _closer, please_. He let himself be drawn down, chest to chest with Mycroft. They didn’t stop kissing for a moment.

Any surprise faded quickly. Greg couldn’t be bothered to hold onto it, not when Mycroft was kissing him like that, with shivery breaths and those first flashes of tongue. A moan slipped loose, and Greg couldn’t tell which of them had done it.

Mycroft’s hands ventured down. Over Greg’s shoulders, then lower, trailing up and back along the path of his spine. A shy, almost curious sweep of sensation. Mycroft’s voice was soft in Greg’s ears; small catches of sound that didn’t quite escape from his throat.

It was more affecting than Greg could make sense of.

For a while, Greg lost the minutes, his mind going lax and fuzzy around the edges. He felt warm, a little drunk all over again, and unconcerned with remembering to breathe between kisses until the matter couldn’t be ignored anymore. They broke, finally – panting, foreheads pressed together.

It took Greg a moment to realise he was trembling.

“G-Greg?”

He opened his eyes - not sure when he’d closed them. Mycroft stared up at him with ink-pool pupils, something anxious tightening the line of his mouth.

Fondness, gentle and bubbly, squeezed around Greg’s heart.

“Sorry. Jus’-“ Greg laughed, still a bit breathless. “S’this actually happening?”

Mycroft blinked. His lips twitched, and then softened into a smile.

“If – that’s alright.”

Greg could only grin. “Definitely alright, Myc.” He leaned in, nudging at Mycroft’s nose once before easing into another kiss. This one was simple and chaste, but still lovely in it’s unhurried sweetness.

“You never said anything,” Greg murmured as they parted.

“It’s not something I understood. But… I’ve wondered. For some time.” Mycroft glanced off to one side in the vein of a mentally contained shrug. “Hindsight is a funny sort of thing.”

“Yeah.” Greg could appreciate the sentiment. A faint impulse lifted his hand – just a brush against Mycroft’s cheek. “Think I’ve been dizzy about you since the beginning.”

It wasn’t shock that passed over Mycroft’s expression, but rather a quiet appreciation. He let out a breath, something between a soft laugh and a sigh.

“What-“ He swallowed, eyelashes flickering as Greg’s fingertips eased down the side of his neck. “What now?”

“Don’t know,” Greg murmured, tracing a lazy path along Mycroft’s skin. His heartbeat seemed to thicken at how Mycroft stirred beneath him, restless and a little shy.

It brought to mind just how sensitive Mycroft could be elsewhere.

“Not really sleepy anymore.”

“Nor I.”

“Getting a lot of ideas too, t’be honest.”

The new blush that bloomed over Mycroft’s cheeks was quickly becoming one of Greg’s favorite things to cause.

“We should talk about this some more. When we’re not both sloshed, anyway,” Greg added, flashing an asymmetrical grin. “For now though, really wanna keep kissing you, if that’s okay-“

“God, yes.”

The immediacy with which Mycroft pulled Greg back to him, lips parting with a blissed out sigh, sent a shiver of pleasure purring through Greg’s midsection. This was definitely a different experience than most of the fumbling one-offs he’d had. The kissing was good, no doubt. But it was the focus behind it that curled Greg’s toes.

Mycroft kissed like he intended to _learn_ Greg.

Intimately.

Greg found himself turned over onto his back in short order, grinning as Mycroft shifted over him. There was something satisfying about Mycroft on top, his weight gently pressing Greg against the mattress. Restrained, in a way.

Definitely a thought worth exploring more another time. For now, though…

“Just this tonight,” Greg whispered. “Tomorrow, we’ll start figuring things out.”

Mycroft nodded. Their eyes met, a shared moment that neither of them could quite put words to. He smiled once more, and leaned back in.

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kinda became my baby of the collection, so much so that I broke my own rules and worked on it way longer than normal. It's definitely getting a repost on it's own, and a continuation for the next morning. ::eyebrow wiggle::


	28. Deliberations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyyyyy, I'm back..... XD

The fourth glass of scotch had been a mistake.

The first three hadn’t been that wise either, but Mycroft had kept a hold on his faculties up until that point. After all, a healthy tolerance was essential in his line of work. Some of the most important negotiations of his career had taken place with a glass in his hand. He could hardly call those instances enjoyable, though. Nothing distracted from a good drink like having to fluff the egos of self-serving opportunists.

Rather a different experience having _good_ company to drink with for once.

The evening had been so pleasant thus far. A quiet dinner, engaging conversation. Quite… remarkable, really. Mycroft wondered what it was that made it so easy to laugh in moments like that, to let all the extraneous noise slip away for a few hours. The check had come too quickly for his liking, and he’d found he wasn’t willing to have things end just then.

A short car ride later, and Mycroft had found himself in his sitting room, Glenlivet open on the sideboard and intrigued eyes looking on as he poured out four fingers between two glasses.

Glenlivet led to the Aberlour. Then, the warmth stirring loose and cosy in his chest, Mycroft had offered the Bunnahabhain.

His memory was somewhat spotty after that.

They’d gotten to his room at least. A small measure of comfort, knowing he’d managed enough propriety to make it to the bed. Mycroft couldn’t say the same for the state of the sheets, or the mistreatment inflicted on their discarded clothes. The lamp from his nightstand appeared to have been relocated to the floor in a none-too-gentle manner.

He ought to be more unsettled by the sight. Visual proof of a critical lapse in good sense. But as he lay there, breath steadying in his lungs, the last whispers of sensation fading from between his thighs…

He couldn’t quite manage it.

There was movement on the bed next to him. A quiet thrill shivered beneath Mycroft’s skin as someone warm and quite naked pressed up against his back.

“Can hear you thinking.”

Mycroft took a breath, nodding for lack of a proper response. A rumbly _hmm_ ghosted along the hairs of his neck. Another shift, and an arm stole possessively over his waist.

“Penny for ‘em?”

It was an offer. Murmured with sleepy humour, for Mycroft to laugh away if he chose. But there was also the shrewdness of a man who knew his bed partner well, practised as he was when it came to the unconventional ways of a Holmes.

And he seemed curiously unconcerned about the current situation, never mind the glaring indiscretion that had lead to it.

Mycroft turned, finally, settling onto his other side. Dark eyes watched him from the opposite pillow, gleaming softly in the dimness, half-lidded and hazy with contentment. An accompanying smile emerged in a slow curl of the lips.

It all felt a bit wondrous, to be allowed to see him in that state.

“This will change things,” Mycroft said hesitantly. Gentle panic stirred in his heart.

The smile broadened.

“Think so?”

Mycroft nodded.

“Hm.” There was a stretch and a sigh. A flicker of eyelashes. “Kinda like the sound of that.”

_Oh._

“You – do?”

“Yeah.” He’d edged closer to Mycroft. “S’nice, how we’ve got things. Comfortable.” The warm palm sliding up Mycroft’s chest drew forth a quavering exhale. “Like this a lot more, though.”

Mycroft swallowed, a bit lost for words. It was unlike him. Most of his behavior that evening had been.

The only course left to him was honesty.

“I - I, as well.”

That smile was fully a grin now, unrestrained and openly pleased. An answering flush of heat crept across Mycroft’s face, which only worsened as he realised he was blushing. He ducked his head on instinct, embarrassed.

Dear Lord, what was happening? He seemed to have lost any semblance of composure.

“I don’t – I’m not sure what it is you want from me.”

The chuckle Mycroft heard was soft and kind, and easier to take than he would have expected.

“Like you, Mycroft. Always have. Guess I just didn’t understand the extent of it ‘til now.” The confidence of the voice waned a moment, a thread underneath of something a little uncertain, but hopeful. “I don’t know what this all means, but – it feels good. Real, you know? Not felt that in a long time. Makes me want to see how friendly we can get.”

 _Friendly_. Mycroft smiled at that, amused enough to lift his eyes again.

“What would that entail?” he asked quietly. Fondness fluttered in time with his pulse at the boyish relief he saw.

The next moment, his space was gently invaded - breath and lips cosying up to his neck, the subtle scent of male skin tinted with sex.

“Let me take you out, to start. Next Friday. Do a proper date for once.” Mycroft could actually feel the smirk against his skin. “Maybe not get quite as pissed. Coffee after. And-”

Teeth fastened onto his throat, just the right pressure to make him arch and gasp. Goodness, that was… effective.

How had he not known that?

“Christ, we just – how can you be-?“

“Resourceful, me.”

Given the way his own body was responding, so was Mycroft.

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, squirming with breathless laughter as fingers danced over his stomach. After a short struggle, he managed to best his opponent, perching atop the rogue with well-deserved, smug pride.

“Yes. Take me to dinner. Be friendly with me.” Heart racing, nerves alight, Mycroft leaned down and claimed his victory with a soft murmur as their lips met. “I’d like that, Gregory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For as long as it took, I REALLY like this chapter a lot. Definite on it's own posting at some point.


End file.
